


life's but a walking shadow

by larienelengasse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Apocalypse, M/M, Resurrection, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larienelengasse/pseuds/larienelengasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times in one's life that stand out among the rest, moments that sometimes come back so viscerally that one feels them deep in their bones. Dean's moments are made of Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	life's but a walking shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Because all work and no play makes for a grumpy me, I dashed this off this morning before diving back into academic hell. I am completely and totally unspoiled, so this is pure speculation and surely not what Kripke's planning. Contains spoilers from seasons two, four and up through 5.04. Thanks to the fabulous folks at the [Supernatural Wiki](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Main_Page) for Sam and Dean's dialog from AHBL1, When The Levee Breaks, and The End. Title from William Shakespeare's _Macbeth_.

Title: life's but a walking shadow  
Chapter/part: 1/1  
Author: Larien Elengasse  
Rating: MA (NC-17) for language and mature themes  
Characters: Dean/Sam  
Warnings: angst, character death, Wincest  
Beta: me, myself and I  
Wordcount: 2,966  
Feedback: Would be much appreciated.  
Authors note: Because all work and no play makes for a grumpy me, I dashed this off this morning before diving back into academic hell. I am completely and totally unspoiled, so this is pure speculation and surely not what Kripke's planning. Contains spoilers from seasons two, four and up through 5.04. Thanks to the fabulous folks at the [Supernatural Wiki](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Main_Page) for Sam and Dean's dialog from AHBL1, When The Levee Breaks, and The End. Title from William Shakespeare's _Macbeth_.  
Disclaimer: Sam, Dean, and Supernatural are the property of Kripke and CW; I’m just renting a little corner of their sandbox.

Summary: There are times in one's life that stand out among the rest, moments that sometimes come back so viscerally that one feels them deep in their bones. Dean's moments are made of Sam.

It's June, 2000 and they're in Billings Montana. Their dad's off God knows where, on some hunt that he won't allow either Sam or Dean to participate in. They're bored. NASCAR is on the TV but neither one of them is really watching. Dean's pacing like a caged cat, wondering where John is, if he's okay.

"Dean," Sam says. His voice still sounds strange this way, after it's changed and grown deep and kind of soft – Dean thinks that's what molasses would sound like it if it could talk.

He turns and looks at Sam, all arms and legs still but filled out more. Sam's arms are stretched over his head, long fingers lazily tapping the fake oak headboard, legs open and draped across the bed in a kind of casual, accidental pose.

"What?"

"Dad's going to be gone for awhile."

"Yeah. So?"

"You gonna pace like that the whole time?"

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair.

"Dean."

"What?" he says, almost annoyed.

"Dad's gone."

Sam's smiling, dimples and white teeth, a playful glint in his eye.

All the tension leaves Dean in a rush, like someone knocked it out of him. He crosses the room and climbs on the bed, kneeling over Sam. He lays his hands on him, starting at his wrists, thumbs rubbing the soft underside. He holds them for a moment, feeling Sam's pulse speed up, then he runs his hands down long arms, his heart rabbiting in his chest as he watches Sam's response, the way Sam's eyes flutter shut, and his lips part, tongue darting out to wet them. He continues down Sam's long sides, fingers sliding up and under the hem of his t-shirt, then he pushes up, taking Sam's shirt over his head and off his arms. The pads of his fingers graze Sam's warm skin, leaving goose-bumps in their wake, over his hard nipples, over his ribs, one, two, three, into his concave abdomen, circling his navel before arriving at the top of his jeans. He lingers there, fingers caressing the skin just beneath.

"Dean," Sam breathes. It's the only sound he's made since Dean mounted the bed.

Pop goes the snap on Sam's jeans; click-click-click as the zipper slides down. Dean hooks his fingers over the top and slowly pulls Sam's jeans and briefs down over narrow hips and impossibly long legs.

"Sam," Dean says, and Sam's eyes open and focus on him as he pulls his shirt over his head, then reaches for the snap on his own jeans. Sam smiles and Dean feels it in his bones, under his skin, in his blood. It hurts and feels so good—it scares him to death. He climbs onto the bed and lowers himself into Sam's waiting arms. Skin to skin is how he likes it best, though he'll take Sam's hand down his pants jerking him off in a pinch. Sam's large hands are on him, one on the back of his head, the other tracing the knobs of Dean's spine.

He may have taken Sam's virginity, but that was a small payment in exchange for what Sam's taken from him without even knowing it, or trying.

"I wanna—"

"Yeah," Sam answers before Dean's even finished. They've been finishing each other's sentences for years now anyway.

Dean's kissing Sam's neck, along the column until he drifts to Sam's collarbone, down to his chest, pausing to lave and suck on his nipples because Sam loves that. Sam arches up to meet his mouth and Dean bites down, causing Sam to gasp before groaning low.

"It's been awhile," Dean rasps. "You need—"

"Uh-uh," Sam answers. "Just—"

"Yeah. Okay."

He could say that inside Sam is where he feels safest, but that's not entirely true. He loves it there, loves how Sam fits him so well, how good it makes Sam feel, how Sam gives himself to it so completely, but it's not where Dean feels safest. He feels safest when Sam looks at him in this certain way that grounds him, that inspires him, that makes him feel—no, know he can do anything. Sometimes that's on a hunt, sometimes it's after a fight with Dad, and sometimes it's at random moments like when he's pumping gas or polishing his gun. They never say it. They don't have to. They know it, feel it, it's in their hearts and minds and blood and bones. They belong to each other.

Dean feels it now as he sinks deep inside Sam, feels Sam's long legs around him, Sam's big hands gripping, Sam's lips on his skin, Sam's voice climbing inside him, echoing in his mind, in his soul, if he has one. Dean knows that he's nothing without Sam; Sam tells him he's wrong, all the time. The fact that they can't have this every day is just one more thing that's fucked up and wrong in their lives. It's what makes Dean deny God's existence.

Something breaks inside him; it does every single time. Sam breaks too and Dean wonders why Sam smiles, like breaking is good, like breaking makes him happy. He holds Sam tight, cradling him in his arms, on his lap, and Sam buries his face in Dean's neck, nuzzling the sweat and salt and skin. They stay like that for a long time, until Dean's legs start to fall asleep and Sam's knees begin to ache. They shower together, lazily touching and kissing, teasing exhausted bodies to half-arousal, before curling up together on surprisingly clean sheets.

It's May 2007, Cold Oak South Dakota. Dean heaves a sigh of relief so profound that he almost falls to his knees in gratitude. He begins jogging toward Sam. Sam looks at him and smiles with relief. He hears his name on Sam's lips as his brother walks toward him. He can see that Sam's banged up, holding his left arm into his side. Dislocated shoulder, probably. Then he sees Jake and he yells Sam's name and starts running. In the brief seconds before Sam arches in pain when Jake stabs him, Dean sees that look in Sam's eyes that tells him everything's okay, that makes him feel like Superman. Then it disappears.

"Sam!" he cries, dropping his shotgun as he skids to his knees in the mud, catching Sam as he crumples, head lolling, the light in his eyes flickering.

"Sam, Sam, Sam. Hey, hey... Come here, come here, let me look at you. Oh, hey look, hey look at me it's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, alright? Sammy, Sam! Hey, listen to me, we are going to patch you up, okay... You'll be as good as new. Huh?"

He cradles Sam's head in his hand, turning his brother's face up to meet his gaze.

"I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to take care of you. I gotcha. It's my job, right, watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother.... Sam... Sam.... Sam! Sammy!"

When the light in Sam's eyes, the light that has sustained him through what would have ended other men, goes out, all Dean can do is cry, "No.. no-n-n-n-n-no. Oh god... Oh god... Sam!"

It's September 2008 in Pontiac Illinois, and Dean's back from the pit. He doesn't exactly remember what happened, though he gets glimpses that make him pale and sick. The hallway is dark and narrow and he swears it's one of those trick things where he'll never reach the end. At the end is room 201. At the end is Sam. He's trying to be patient and not just break into a run and leave Bobby in the dust. He knows the minute that Sam looks him in the eye that his brother doesn't believe it's him. He waits as his back hits the wall and he fights Sam off, he waits for that look, for the recognition, for the look that's borne him through more in his life than he cares to remember. He sees it then, the realization dawns on Sam then there it is, and Dean knows he's really alive, knows he's no longer in Hell. He's holding onto Sam, marveling at how huge he feels, how warm he is, how good he smells. Sam's trying not to cry; Dean doesn't bother fighting it off.

Bobby's gone, checked into another room and Sam's on his knees in front of Dean, between his parted legs, his hands on Dean's thighs.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, his head bowed.

"Sammy," Dean says.

"I tried. I tried so hard." Sam laughs cynically and Dean feels a pit form in his stomach. "I couldn't even die."

Dean grasps Sam, holding his face in his hands. "Thank God for that. Listen, everything's going to be okay now, you hear me?"

"Yeah."

Dean swallows as he feels Sam's hands slowly slide up his thighs. How long has it been? It's been months but it feels like years, and it's been ages since they were able to just be happy, even for a moment. In the months before Dean went to Hell it was desperate, always tinged with profound sorrow. He just wanted to see Sam smile, hear him laugh, sigh, moan, and always it was like they were saying goodbye.

What would this be like?

Sam crawls over him as he lies back on the bed. Dean's eyes flutter closed as he feels Sam's warm breath on his neck.

"Hey," Sam breathes.

"Hey," Dean answers back.

"God, Dean. I missed you so much, so very, very much."

"Sammy," Dean whispers, his hands sliding into Sam's too-long hair, over the muscles in his back, down to the hem of his t-shirt before pulling it off.

There's mirrors on the ceiling, which would normally amuse Dean to no end, not to mention totally turn him on once they got to fucking, but all he can do now is wonder at his little brother, who's not so little anymore. His fingers trace the muscles in Sam's back and shoulders and he murmurs, "Jesus, dude. You're ripped."

Sam huffs out a laugh and Dean swallows a lump in his throat.

Then Sam's mouth is covering his own, devouring him, and Dean submits. When they were young, Dean was always the top, as the lingo goes, but as they grew older, they switched it up. At first, it was to make Sam happy, but then Dean found he liked it, though that's something he's never going to admit to anyone but Sam—and of course, Sam's not telling anyone.

Sam's deep voice murmurs, "I wanna—"

And Dean answers, "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy. Me too."

Dean's shirt comes off over his head and Sam's careful not to take the amulet with it. It feels good there, resting against his bare skin, the ever-present reminder of how much Sam loves him. He lifts his hips as Sam tugs his jeans off, and watches as Sam removes his own.

It hurts. Hurts like it did the first time, but it's also good, good to have Sam inside him, all around him, to be skin-to-skin in a way that they haven't been for a long time. Sam whispers his name like it's a prayer, and Dean feels unworthy like he always does. They've both said so many hurtful things. They've accused, shouted, cursed, punched and loved each other. They've never done anything lightly, and always they've loved each other through it. He grunts as Sam rolls them over, managing to hang on and stay inside Dean as he situates him on his lap.

He falls asleep wrapped up in Sam, his brother's woodsy-musky scent filling his nostrils. Sam's lazily stroking his back and he hazards a glance up at him. He smiles when he sees Sam's lips curved up at the corners. Maybe all would really be right with the world after all.

It's March 2009, Sioux Falls South Dakota and Dean's watching, helpless, as his little brother shakes and cries out in pain. Sam's struggling against nothing but air, hallucinating, and all Dean wants is to go inside and hold him like he used to do when Sam was little and scared.

"Dean, no. Don't say that to me. Don't you say that to me."

Sam's talking to him but it's not him, not really, and Dean doesn't know what Sam thinks he's saying.

They're in a motel room in Cold Spring and Dean can't believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Later, he'll understand that it's because he's scared and hurt and desperate. Sam's fist connects with his face, he goes down hard and they pummel each other, then before he can stop himself, before he can shove scared, defensive, angry fifteen-year-old Dean back down inside himself he's saying:

"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back."

It's May 2009 and he's waiting for Sam. A car approaches, some non-descript, beige '80s model and Sam climbs out and it's like Dean can breathe again. He almost fooled himself into believing that they were better off apart, but he knows it's not true. He feels it in his bones, under his skin. It's all he can do to not grab Sam and hold on tight, but so much has happened. He's not the same as he was and neither is Sam. There's been so many hurtful things said, so much pain and betrayal and he wonders if they'll ever get back to where they were before all this happened. He's afraid they won't.

Sam approaches.

"Sam." He pulls out Ruby's knife and watches fear and uncertainty flash in Sam's eyes before he gives it back to him, handle first. "If you're serious and you want back in...you should hang on to this. I'm sure you're rusty."

Sam takes the knife from him, but won't look him in the eye.

Dean swallows. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm...whatever I need to be. But I was, uh—wrong." 

Sam's looking at the toes of his boots as he responds. "What made you change your mind?  

Dean tries to catch his brother's gaze. "Long story. The point is...maybe we are each other's Achilles heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human."

That's when Sam finally looks up at him, and Dean sees it, that gaze that makes him feel safe and trusted and loved. Sam thanks him, promises not to let him down, and Dean answers, "Oh, I know it. I mean, you are the second-best hunter on the planet." He grins, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam nods and smiles, a little. "So, what do we do now?"

Dean smiles back. "We make our own future." And he wonders if it's really possible.

There are times in one's life that stand out among the rest, moments that sometimes come back so viscerally that one feels them deep in their bones. Dean's moments, Dean's life was always made of Sam.

Sam at seventeen years old, laid out on some cheap motel bed that's covered in a gold and green flowered coverlet, long arms stretched over his head, his legs draped over the bed. Sam in his arms, on his knees in the mud and rain as his last breath leaves him, that breath mingling with Dean's cries as they both are carried away on the wind. Sam holding him tight in some skeevy motel room with a mirrored ceiling, his hands making him feel alive after being torn to shreds in Hell. Sam curled up in a narrow bed in Bobby's panic room, shaking as his own blood drives him mad. Sam's eyes, tormented and grateful as Dean tells him they belong together until the end, and beyond.

He sits on the hood of his car, watching the sunset, watching Sam as he remembers these moments, good and bad. They're like chapters in a book, a prologue to something bigger, something better. Sam stretches, twisting, his back popping, then he turns to Dean and smiles. Dean always marvels at how long Sam's arms and legs are, at how someone can be so small and so big all at once. Sam's jeans slip low on his narrow hips, revealing the rise of his hipbones and the concave of his belly. He's barefoot in the grass, lightly tanned skin glowing in a perfect sunset. The sky is blue but beginning to turn pink and the clouds are impossibly white and the air smells like the sea. Sam's watching gulls ride the currents overhead, his own long arms spread out, mimicking their wingspan. Dean absently thinks that if Sam were a bird he'd be an Osprey—beautiful, deadly, and perfect.

He slides off the hood of the car and crosses to where Sam stands, placing his hands on his brother's bare chest. He wonders at how long he fought this, afraid of where they'd end up, even when he knows the price they, and others, had to pay to be where they are now. In retrospect, it was worth it. Maybe that makes him a selfish bastard, but he really doesn't care. They paid and gave enough.

He pushes Sam's bangs out of his eyes and smiles as Sam flashes an impossibly wide, dimply grin.

"Always," Sam says. "We finally have always."

"It was a long wait," Dean answers. "A whole lot of people had to die."

"But it was worth it. We're all where we're supposed to be." Sam leans in and nuzzles the soft spot behind his ear. He whispers, "Do you miss the world?"

"Nah. I always thought the world kind of sucked."

Sam laughs and Dean wraps his arms around him, tugging him down into the soft, green grass.

~Finis


End file.
